A Joker in The Court
by wbss21
Summary: What happens when yet another secret society organization tries to take down Batman?  Will the Joker come to his aid, or will they both succumb to the Court of Owls.
1. Chapter 1

**A Joker in The Court:**

The chair slid with a loud squeal across the floor as it was pulled out from the table.

Batman's gauntleted hand held tight to its back, his fingers curling in, already feeling agitation as he took in the Joker.

The madman was seated across from him, his wrists shackled. The sleeves of his orange shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his skinny, stark white arms, and the shirt itself seemed to be soiled in spots, dark brown spatterings across the front. It looked like dried blood.

He was busying his hands with a deck of cards, performing some kind of complex shuffling technique. His eyes were fixed on the task, a few strands of his hair falling over, across his forehead.

Batman swept his cape back, lowering himself in to the chair, resting his forearms on to the table.

The Joker didn't look up to acknowledge him.

"You were free a long time."

The crusader spoke after a long moment, his voice a dark, heavy rasp.

The lunatic's lips pulled in to a subtle smirk, still keeping his eyes on the cards, still shifting them between his long fingers.

"You were gone a long time." He replied, his voice quiet.

Batman watched him carefully, listening to the soft, metallic clinks the cuffs made each time the Joker moved. He looked at the clown's face, taking in its still ravaged form. It wasn't as bad as the last time he'd seen him, but the scars were still deeply visible. The gnarled tissue, gathered in to a circular point just above his eyebrows, and the long and jagged cuts running up from the corners of his mouth, up along his cheeks, giving him what appeared as a permanent grin. They were fully healed now, but they still looked swollen and painful. The skin around it looked cracked and lined, like some broken porcelain doll. What once had been an evenly white visage now found itself marred by areas of light pink, the remnants of having been shot point blank in the face.

"What was that like?" Batman heard himself ask without really intending it.

The Joker stopped shuffling, bringing his eyes up at last.

"Getting shot in the face." The vigilante elaborated.

The madman's eyes fell back to his hands, beginning again to shuffle.

"You don't remember much about a thing like that." He answered. He paused, his hands going still, and for several seconds, he said nothing. "It hurt." He finally breathed.

Bruce couldn't help the small smile which crept over his lips.

"I'll bet." He said.

The Joker began laying the cards flat, single file along the table top.

"I was telling your son…"

"_What_?" Batman cut him short, his voice clipped.

Again the Joker smiled.

"Your son. I was telling him just how the bullet entered and made its exit."

He held his hand up, jamming his index finger under his chin, tilting his head back slightly.

"It went up through here…" His grin widened. "Through the roof of my mouth… past the nasal cavity, straight up through my forehead." He pressed his finger against the scar tissue there. "These though…" He touched the scar running up from his mouths right side. "The _doctors_ here gave me these."

He brought his hand back down, continuing to lay the cards flat.

"That little boy of yours didn't seem too interested though."

In a flash, Batman had reached out, taking hold the lunatic's wrist, squeezing tight.

The Joker only smiled more.

"He's a real firecracker, that one."

His brow furrowed suddenly, his mouth pulling to a slight frown.

"Not very smart though. That can be overcome, to a degree, if you realize and accept your limitations. But _his_ problem… his problem is he overestimates his own intelligence. That gets him in to trouble."

"And your _mouth_ gets _you_ in trouble." The vigilante said, increasing the pressure of his grip.

"I know." The lunatic chuckled. "The difference is, I do it on _purpose_. This _new_ little Robin, he walked in to rather a precarious situation, more then once even, without knowing it. Thinking he was fully in control." The Joker laughed lightly. "Poor dear. I could so easily have killed him. Of course, that wasn't something he could admit. It's that convincing himself of his own invincibility which _will_ get him killed someday."

"If you even _think_ about…" Batman began, threatening to break the clown's wrist, increasing the pressure.

The Joker laughed loudly.

"Oh no, no. I don't want to _kill_ this one. Believe me, if I wanted that, I would have. But the darling was part of the _plan_, you see. And he's just too much fun, really. So much like you! Not of the same wit, but the same temperament, surely..."

Batman relinquished his hold finally, pulling back.

"He isn't my son." He said stiffly.

"Don't lie to me Batman." The Joker said quickly, frowning.

"I'm not." The detective answered.

"You are. As though it matters. If I wanted to wipe the wretch off the face of the earth, I would. His biological relation to you has no bearing on that decision. You should know that."

Batman stood abruptly, reaching across the table, burying his hands in the madman's shirt and jerking him up, out of his chair. The cards fell from his hands, scattering across the floor.

The vigilante drew him close, until their faces were only inches apart.

"Keep pushing Joker." He growled low.

The Joker grinned wide.

"Oh, I will."

Disgusted, Batman pushed him away, letting him go, letting the lunatic fall hard back to his seat.

He hit it with an "Umph!".

Almost immediately he started a low chuckle.

The detective glared at him, overt repulsion crossing his features.

Slowly he sat back down.

He was getting off track. He was letting the Joker manipulate the conversation, extend it longer then it needed to be.

Talking to this man was dangerous. Bruce had to remind himself of that.

"What did you do with him?" He asked after a moment, trying to reign in his own anger.

"With who?" The Joker asked, bending down to pick up the fallen cards.

Batman thought of reaching forward and smashing the clown's head against the table.

He restrained himself.

"You know who. Simon Hurt."

The Joker sat straight, having collected all the fallen cards. He leaned back, beginning again to shuffle the deck.

He smiled.

"Simon says… lets all play dead."

"Did you kill him?" The detective asked bluntly.

The madman stopped shuffling, looking up.

"An evil man who managed through a source of power he didn't understand to extend his pathetic life beyond its natural course." He grinned. "Let's just say I took _care _of him."

Batman frowned.

"What does that mean?" He asked.

"I think you know." The Joker replied.

The vigilante's eyes narrowed, bringing his clenched fists up, resting them atop the table.

"You call him evil. What does that make you?"

"Inevitable." The Joker answered. "As _Dr_. Hurt told me."

The crusader's lip curled.

"You're a coward."

The lunatic's lips pulled in to a harsh frown, mock indignation crossing his features.

"Batman, _please_, you wound me deeply." He pressed a hand against his chest.

Batman said nothing. He could feel the tension building in his muscles. He never could understand why the madman had such an affect on him, this horrible unease which sank in to the pit of his stomach when around him.

He knew he should leave, and so he started, moving to stand.

"I did it for you."

He was halted by the Joker's voice.

"What?" He asked, halfway out of his seat.

"All of it. I made a promise to them; a promise to _collect_. The fools. They actually thought they could beat you." He chuckled. "Could beat _me_."

"What are you talking about?" Bruce pushed, sitting back down.

"The _Black Glove_ and its five fingers. Worshippers of evil. But you and I Bats, we're so much _more_ then that. So much greater then some mere _concept_ actualized _only_ by man."

For a moment, the madman went silent, boring with his bright green eyes in to Batman's own.

"We represent _not_ forces of good and evil, dear. Nothing false as that. Though to the outsider, and the simple mind, it may seem that way. To Dr. Hurt, it may have _seemed_ that way. His grand mistake. We are life and death Batman, creation and destruction." He smiled. "Order and chaos. Forces by which the _universe_ is governed, not humanity. Forces beyond corruption. Beyond compromise. It's what I've always so admired in you. In you, like in _me_, that unmitigated unwillingness to ever yield in your convictions. Dr. Hurt didn't understand this. He thought the two of us could be _made_ to serve him, that he could _control_ us." The Joker chuckled lightly. "And I told him, I told _all _of them that you would survive. That you would beat their little trap, and that I would beat them at their own, ridiculous game. And of course, I was right. Aren't I always though?" He grinned.

And then he leaned forward, resting his arms on to the table, cradling the side of his long face in one hand, his other dangling loosely.

"We can't be _controlled _Batman. Not you and I." The smiled faded from his lips. "But we can be killed." He paused, his eyes unblinking as he gazed at the larger man. "You disappeared." He pointed at the vigilante. "Not long after I pulled myself out of Gotham harbor." He laughed. "Your little Robin, knocked me right in. And here I was, wondering why they chose sixteen as the legal limit to obtain your license."

"How did you get out?" Batman asked.

"Oh, sheer will." The Joker answered. "And the luck of not wearing a seatbelt. I just kicked the door open and swam to the surface. I'm _used_ to that sort of thing."

Again silence fell between them, neither man looking away from the other.

"I went looking for you." The clown finally said. "I always find you, when I want to." He smiled once more. "But I couldn't find you this time. And then I began to _hear _things. They said you were _dead_. That's impossible I thought. I _knew_ it was impossible."

Bruce didn't miss how the clown's hands clenched tightly, and the sudden anxiety which swept over his face.

The detective was taken aback.

He'd never seen that in the Joker. Never seen actual _concern_ in his eyes.

"No one would be fool enough to kill _you_ Batsy. Not unless they wanted to contend with _me_."

Suddenly he laughed, but it wasn't with his usual, malicious glee. There was a hint of something depressed, something bitter and angry.

"But I couldn't find you. No matter where I looked. You were gone… _Gone_." He said, his arms coming down, spreading out across the table, his hands now centimeters from Batman's own.

"But you continued to operate." The crusader said, his eyes falling to the Joker's outstretched hands. His nails were green. A deep color, like his hair. It looked bizarre against the absolute white of his skin.

"There was a debt to collect. I made a promise."

"You thought it was them who had killed me?"

The Joker shook his head.

"Not them. Not those simpering weaklings. But the promise was for you Bats. They would die because they failed, and because they had the preposterous gall to try their hand against something so completely beyond their comprehension."

Abruptly the Joker's eyes slid away.

"But something had _changed_ Batman. In _me_. Chaos upon chaos. No order to balance it out." He giggled, and the sound was like that of a child. "Nothing to fight against. Nothing to push or pull. But one cannot _exist_ without the other." His gaze shifted back to the vigilante. "Do you understand? The relationship is symbiotic. Enabling. What, after all, is there to throw in to disarray if everything is already such?"

"You lost your purpose." Batman said.

"There is no purpose." The Joker shot back quickly. "No purpose to anything. Any of _this_." He waved his shackled hands about. "I destroy because I can. Because it's there to _be_ destroyed. As nature destroys. Indiscriminant and without reason. But you cannot destroy that which already _is_. And you cannot lose that which never _was_. I didn't lose _purpose_ Batman. I lost my only _challenge_. The only thing keeping me from desperate boredom."

Batman's mouth screwed up in obvious disgust.

"You're sick." He spit.

The Joker smiled.

"Flattery will get you everywhere…"

"Why are you telling me this?" The crusader asked, growing tired.

"Patience darling. I'm getting to it. Without your unyielding will, your insistence in forcing order and meaning in to a senseless existence, I found myself unable to… _perform_, shall we say? Unable to _do_ what it is I do best. I attempted to compensate then. To…" He laughed. "To _replace_ you. That was a move born in desperation. I know better then anyone how very _irreplaceable_ you are."

Batman only glared at him.

The Joker reached forward, dropping his hand over the crusaders, clasping down tight.

Bruce thought instantly to pull away, but the madman's grip was strong, and he had suddenly some kind of ridiculous fear of embarrassment, should he be unable to break easily free. So he just sat still, never averting his eyes.

"Dr. Hurt…" The lunatic went on. "I thought _he_. Organized evil against entropy. But Dr. Hurt, the very picture of uncertainty, of the easily persuaded and weak willed man. Of course, no challenge at all. He tried even to _bargain _with me." The clown chuckled. "Can you believe?"

"There's no bargaining with you." Batman replied.

The Joker smiled.

"You know me well dear."

Still, his bony fingers held, wrapped round the crusaders wrist.

"This world and its people are so easily driven towards the abandonment of their rules, of their laws. So easily made to act against their claimed ideals and codes of _morality_. And something so easily accomplished, as well you should know, is never any real fun. Dr. Hurt, I hoped, would have the _strength _of his convictions. That his desire to do bad for badness' sake would lend itself to his having an _unshakable_ resolve." He smirked. "But no. He would do whatever necessary to gain his precious immortality and feeling of _power_. His belief in evil was about as true as mine, which means he didn't believe in it at all."

"_Was_?" Batman remarked.

The Joker grinned.

"Oops."

Finally the crusader pulled his hand back and the clown let go without protest.

"His group of _loyal_ followers proved just as sorry. How they _begged_ for their lives Bats. The ones who had the _chance_. I told them I did it for you, for their daring to _attack _you. They were so very fast to disown any involvement then, claiming all manner of outrage, like they never wanted to go along with it, that they'd been forced to participate. As though I hadn't actually _been _there to see their whipped up glee as they dragged your unconscious body to that coffin. As though it hadn't been _me_ who allowed them that access to you in the first place. They never would have gotten anywhere close to touching you had it not been for our encounter that night."

There was heavy disgust in the madman's voice now, his eyes angry.

And then he again smiled.

"But I knew you'd prepared. You always do. And I knew you'd dig yourself up out of that grave and lay it to them like the _hero_ you are."

The Joker brought his eyes back to the deck of cards again, which he'd arranged in to a neat pile. He laid a hand over it.

"You pulled yourself free alright. And there's no doubt you'd have hunted every member of the Black Glove down, not that I'd _intended_ to give you the chance." He laughed lightly. "I was going to do the job for you."

"And you did." Bruce said, not even attempting to hide his disgust.

"I did." The Joker agreed, nodding, still keeping his gaze fixed on the table. "But you'd gone away. You _left me_ Batman." He looked up then, frowning. "And I changed. I couldn't go after them as the _Joker_ then. I couldn't play that role without my straight man."

"So you created a new identity? You do that practically every day Joker."

"But this was different. You see? Without you, I had to play _both _roles." He laughed. "A killer investigating his own crimes. What fun! Dr. Hurt had adopted his own, new persona. El Penitent, a drug cartel in Mexico, with a railway he'd built, from there straight to Gotham. So I adapted, and in salute to his stupidity, I became the Domino Killer."

"The game of Mexican Train. You were taunting him. Very clever."

"I like to think so." The Joker mused.

"What is the _point_ Joker?" Batman spit, losing his patience. "You aren't going to tell me what you did with Hurt. And so I have no reason to stay."

He moved to get up.

"You're your own worst enemy Batman." The Joker said, his tone flat. "And the funniest part is, you don't even _know_ it."

Batman lashed out, taking hold the Joker's collar and dragging him up, across the table.

"I've had it with your _games_ Joker!" He raged, lifting him up fully and spinning him around, slamming him back against the wall.

The Joker's eyes closed inadvertently at the impact, grunting out, a sound which slid fast in to laughter.

"Heeee… you see?" He began. "Do you even _realize_ what you stopped by coming back?"

Batman reached up, curling his strong fingers round the madman's throat, squeezing down.

"I stopped _you_." He spit.

The Joker chuckled, the sound coming out as more of a wheeze, his lips pulling in to a grin.

"You stopped me from stopping what you hate most."

"Talk _straight_." The detective's hand tightened.

"Heee. See? That kid's just like you. He told me the same thing. And just like I told him, I'll tell you, I _am_ talking straight."

Batman's teeth bared in a snarl, his hand tightening even more. It would be so easy he thought, to snap the bastard's neck. But how many times had that exact thought gone through his head? He'd only be giving the lunatic what he wanted. With a growl of frustration, he finally let go, letting the Joker drop to the floor, on to his knees. The madman fell forward, catching himself on his hands, choking as he breathed air back in to his lungs.

Bruce could already see bruising on his pure white neck from where his fingers had been pressing down.

"Heeheehee…" The Joker's laugh came out a high pitched strain and he lifted his face, looking up at the crusader, his eyes glinting.

Batman stepped back, away from him, as though he were some diseased animal.

The clown only continued to laugh as slowly he pushed himself to his feet.

"I'd make a good hero." He said, bringing his hands up, the chain of his cuffs clinking metallic as he pointed a finger at the vigilante. "Like you."

"I'm not a hero." Batman hissed, his lip curling in disgust. "And you _desecrate_ the word by mentioning yourself in the same sentence."

A flash of displeasured washed over the Joker's features.

"You're not a _hero_?" He asked, as though the question were absurd. "Then who _is_? Certainly not that buffoon who flies around in blue spandex or whatever the hell his suits made of. It's so _easy_ for him. He's _naive_, really believing in a _better_ world. He thinks he can change things, change the _nature_ of things. His powers allow him that unfortunate delusion. And he _enjoys _what he does because of it. Because he thinks it somehow matters. But you… you don't really believe anything can ever be better, do you? You _know_ the truth. You're haunted by it every day. But you still fight against it, because you don't _agree _that it's right. You still suffer for it, even though you know, in the end, how very hopeless it is. That makes you a hero Batman. More then any of those other super-powered nimrods."

The Joker stepped suddenly closer.

"As for _myself_?" He pressed a hand flat against his chest. "I adapt well." He smiled. "If I didn't have a single, deserving force to battle, well then, why not compensate with an entire element? The criminals in this city are practically begging to be upset. I'd have done just that, but, well, _you_ showed up to do it yourself, didn't you? You see? I was going to give our boys in blue a bit of a break and show our more unsavory friends just how rough things really are."

Bruce stared hard at him, saying nothing.

"And you _know_ how good I am at that." The Joker went on. "At making things… _uncomfortable_."

Again he stepped closer, until now he was mere inches from where Batman stood, practically touching the crusader.

The madman dropped his voice to a whisper.

"A man of my talents would find the transition from villain to hero a seamless one." He said, and slowly he lifted his hands, resting them against Batman's chest. "What do you say Bats? I could be your boy wonder day _and_ night." He smiled.

Batman's face twisted in loathing and he took vicious hold of the Joker's hands, squeezing tight before shoving him away, against the wall.

"Keep your hands off me you _filth_!" He spat.

The lunatic giggled as though he were a little boy.

"You're just mad at yourself. Don't worry. You'll get over it, after a little while. Once we get back in to the swing of things."

"You wouldn't have been able to keep it up." Batman shot. "You're a deviant Joker. You can't cut it in the real world, so you resort to criminality."

The Joker laughed loudly, suddenly.

"How _dear_ you are!" He managed. "That must be the guilt talking. You know as well as I that isn't true. Money and power and notions of security? Those mean nothing at all to me." He continued to chuckle. "And I'd beg to differ with your definition of _real_. It's everyone else who can't quite cut it, I'm afraid. So scared of the truth that they choose instead to build up a world of their own, a _false_ world, with their _pretend_ rules and laws of _proper _conduct. It's all of them living in a fantasy Bats, not me. I do what I do because I _enjoy _it. How many people can actually say that for themselves? Very few, I assure you. They do what they do because they're too afraid to do what they really _want_."

The madman sighed, shaking his head.

"And don't be foolish. I can keep things up for as long as forever, if that's what I want to do."

That was true. The Joker was nothing if not tenacious. Batman had seen him take, and even _given_ him the kinds of beatings which would surely leave anyone else in tears, begging for mercy. Yet the lunatic would only egg you on if you dared to lay a hand against him.

The Joker shrugged, mouth pulling in to an unaffected frown.

"But, you came back, and, here we are. Back to our natural order, hmm? You against me, me against you. So much fun to be had!" He smiled wide.

Batman glared, cold and angry.

"The only fun you'll be having is in your dreams Joker. You're locked up, remember? And after that little incident you pulled back at the police station… You landed yourself deep this time. You won't be getting out."

The lunatic laughed merrily, suddenly moving off the wall, around the vigilante without apprehension, back to the table.

He stood, turned away, resting his left hand against the table's edge.

Batman turned with him, staring at his back.

He studied him.

The Joker was the very definition of imposing.

He was painfully thin, even frail looking. Even _weak_ looking.

But it hardly mattered.

The madman would exude the worst kind of danger.

He was very unusually tall. Taller then Bruce, by three inches. And the Joker, being the consummate showman that he was, used that height to its very fullest affect.

It didn't matter if you were bigger then him, or stronger then him. If you could fight better then him, or physically _handle_ him.

The Joker would put himself in your face, without any existence of hesitation, and stare you down until you _had_ to look away.

And it was the utter lack of concern in his eyes which would only then makes yours deepen.

Because you knew, you _knew_, in that moment, if you dared to meet the Joker's gaze, you were looking in to the eyes of a person truly insane.

He was like some kind of apparition.

Intangible.

Untouchable.

You could do nothing to him.

Nothing to stop him.

Batman hadn't ever figured out how to _stop him_.

Not like the others.

The others…

They all had some limit, some bound.

The Joker had none of it.

Batman had met his gaze countless times. He'd _held_ it.

But by God, did he hate to.

It was looking in to the eyes of hopelessness, of never ending despair.

Facing it.

_Forcing_ himself to face it, even when it shook the very foundation on which he stood.

He had to face it, to _see_ it, so then he wouldn't _become_ it.

To be as the Joker was, lost to everything as he was, without hopes, without dreams, without sense of worth, or value, or care…

Bruce could imagine no existence more frightening.

He might have felt sorry for the Joker, if the Joker at all felt sorry for himself.

But he didn't.

The Joker felt no fear over the state in which he lived, no regret or desperation for his freefalling condition.

No need to find purchase, or a place for him to cling to.

He was content as was.

_Relishing_ even in the bleak desolation of his own perception.

And of the many things terrifying about the Joker, that, perhaps, was the most terrifying of all.

To feel such despondency, and yet feel no need to escape it.

No want even.

No desire.

Being anywhere near the Joker caused deep dread to work its way up in to the pit of your stomach, settling heavy there, refusing to go until you at last broke free of his presence.

It was nothing but a terrible sense.

Like something finite and inescapable.

Something beyond cruelty.

Utter indifference.

Like death.

The Joker was like death.

"I can escape any man-made structure, any man-made restraint." His thoughts were interrupted by the madman's soft voice. "You know this well as I do."

"You're in deep lockdown, Arkham's most secure…"

A sharp peel of laughter cut him short.

"Don't be so disagreeable." The Joker said. "The disbelief in your own words is plainly evident in your voice. It's unattractive, when you're trying to convince yourself of a certain point, passing it off as though trying to convince another."

He turned then, looking back over his shoulder at the crusader, smirking.

"And you call _me_ the great liar. Heh."

Batman said nothing, mouth pulled in to a thin line.

He could feel the tension rising in his _veins_.

The Joker would escape…

He always escaped…

Death following in his wake…

No way to stop him…

No way to convince him otherwise…

Like death…

Like death….

So utterly beyond persuasion.

Suddenly the Joker turned fully towards him, smile widening.

He stepped towards the vigilante, stopping again only inches from him.

"So you see darling," his gaze traveled down, over Batman's broad form, lingering a moment before moving back up, meeting the detectives eyes. "you thought you'd saved the day with your return…" his smile turned to a grin. "but you only ensured my further contribution to that day's unavoidable end."

Batman remained still, silent, ignoring the sudden desire to step away.

"Still…" the Joker continued, his eyes again lowering, to the crusader's shoulders now, his hands coming up at once, resting upon them, the link of his cuffs whapping softly against Batman's chest. "it would be rather a splendid adventure, don't you think? Me by your side, fighting the _good_ fight." He chuckled lowly. "Wouldn't that be something wonderful?"

Batman's own hand came up, pressing against the Joker's bony, flat chest, shoving him back in one, easy motion, causing him to stumble and nearly lose his balance.

"No." He replied, flat, emotionless.

The madman struggled to right himself, giggling softly as he did.

"You sound so sure." He replied.

"I am." Batman sneered, feeling unclean from the Joker's touch.

"You can't be sure until you've experienced a thing." The lunatic was fast to argue, the smile never leaving his dead white face. "I think I might fancy an attempt. Certainly, it was amusing, playing the part of ally to our original little bird."

Bruce felt himself stiffen, nervousness taking him with the mention of Dick.

His unease grew each time the Joker spoke of the Robins. Any of them.

"But you've always been my favorite playmate Batsy." The madman stared hard at him. "You know that, yes? The chemistry just isn't there between me and the kid. He's too freewheeling, too much like myself. One needs contrast, you understand."

"Stop talking about him." Batman shot, voice dry and even.

The Joker again laughed.

"I'm speaking of you, silly Bat. The original Boy-blunder is used only as example."

"Stop talking about him or I'll beat you blind." Batman repeated, tone heavy.

The Joker sighed, seemingly unfazed by the threat.

"Oh, you're so serious Batman." He complained, waving his hands forward, frowning.

But as quickly as the expression had come, it went, replaced once more by a smile.

"But that's what I most love about you. The _drama _of you. The _gravity_. Oh, where would I _be_ without it dear? That unyielding, humorless dedication you have. My _very_ bread and butter."

Bruce's lips pulled down in disgust.

He'd had enough of this.

Enough of listening to this lunatic and his _games_.

He'd allowed himself to be lulled far too long now, anger erupting inside him at the realization.

He said nothing, turning from the madman, back towards the cell's exit, rapping the door for the guard.

"Leaving so soon?" He heard the Joker behind him.

He didn't reply.

"Shame. I was so enjoying your company."

"Well now you can enjoy yourself." Batman snapped. "You're all the company you'll have from now on."

The Joker laughed lowly.

"Lying to ourselves still, are we?"

Batman stood stiffly, again rapping the door.

A moment past in silence.

"I won't be coming to see you again, if that's what you mean." The vigilante finally spoke.

The Joker smiled, stepping closer.

"Batman…"

The detective didn't move.

"Batman…" the Joker repeated, standing nearer now.

And Bruce turned, discomfort creeping up in him, sensing the lunatic's closeness.

He was right, the madman just inches away.

"You forget the other possibility." He grinned.

"… What's that?" Batman asked, stoic.

"Heh… My coming to see _you_." The Joker pressed an index finger against the vigilante's chest.

Batman's mouth twisted in a scowl, standing stone still.

The two of them remained, staring unflinching, seconds passing in silence.

There was suddenly a loud buzzing, the door unlocking as the guard ran the code.

Batman reached up again, pressing him palm flat against the Joker's chest, pushing him back.

And again he turned, cape sweeping up behind him, pushing the door open.

Without further comment, he exited, letting the cell slam shut behind.

The Joker stepped to it, his hands coming up, wrapping round the bars covering the small window, bringing his face close.

"Oh doll! I miss you already!" He called out. "This being apart! Simply unbearable! Expect for me to call upon you soon! Quite soon! I promise! I promise, my love!"

And quickly he dissolved in to hysterics, the sound echoing down the corridor, bouncing loud off its walls, reaching Batman's ears, impossible to block out.

Impossible to stop.


	2. Chapter 2

**New chapter guys! I hope you enjoy and thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter. I appreciate it greatly! Please leave a review for this one if you get a chance!**

**Chapter 2:**

Jonathan Crane looked agitatedly back towards the stock room, where more then ten minutes earlier, he'd sent his men, instructing them to obtain a variety of containers, each containing a chemical base necessary in completing his toxin.

He'd told them to take as many containers as they were able to carry, even supplying them with duffle bags to make the task easier.

He knew likely they were going to have to hit another chemical plant before the night was out, if he wanted enough materials to create a sufficient enough batch for what he had planned.

He'd _had_ it with everything.

With being thought of as a joke, being treated by his peer's as some second rate buffoon. Not a _real_ criminal, like them.

_Idiots_!

He cared nothing for the criminality of his actions.

He didn't even care a thing about rebellion, or raging against the system, as some of these younger, punk fools referred to it as.

All he'd been interested in was his experiments.

At better understanding the emotion of fear.

Learning then how to yield it, to then _use _it.

Breaking the law just happened to be an unavoidable consequence of his interests.

He received no special _thrill_ from it.

And it was hardly his fault if society had failed to build in to its system an outlet for people like him.

He chuckled.

That was funny.

There _was_ no one like him.

That was something they _all _would soon find out.

And oh, how they'd _rue _the day they ever thought to laugh at _him_.

It wasn't about cheating the game, or fixing the system, or even about getting _ahead_.

It was about _control_.

Not just avoiding letting others control you. But controlling them _back_.

And there was no greater tool for accomplishing such then fear.

Of course, no man was an island, and unfortunately for _him_, he required assistance in gaining that control.

His men were usually compliant enough. Under the threat of a dose of his toxin, and most of them would do exactly as he ordered, without delay.

But this sort of business also attracted a large number of imbeciles, that unfortunate fact couldn't be denied. Most of the hired muscle in Gotham consisted of uneducated, high school drop outs, half of them illiterate. And, Jonathan often found, his patience wore thin when dealing with them.

He couldn't recall the number of men he'd doused, purely out of his own frustration, but he knew it was considerably high.

Still, he had a better reputation as an employer then half the rogues in this city.

Especially that buffoon the _Joker_.

God, the very thought of that freak made his blood boil.

One day, he was going to get back at that deranged clown. Humiliate him the same way _he'd _been humiliated.

_Worse _even.

Jonathan shook his head.

But he couldn't think about that now.

He couldn't afford to become distracted by emotion.

He had to get these chemicals and get out fast.

Damn it, what was _taking_ those idiots so long?

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, turning back and looking out over the lifeless manufacturing equipment of the factory.

If they weren't back within the next two minutes, he was going to give them _all _something to think about.

"You know Johnny, _I_ never needed a _mask_ to scare people."

Instantly Jonathan turned, panic racing through his heart, his arm coming up, hand ready at the trigger.

But the limb was caught suddenly in what felt like a bone crushing grip, being turned at a painfully unnatural angle, away.

All the Scarecrow's eyes were met with at first was a finely tailored waistcoat, bright orange in color. A little higher, a canary yellow, silk button down shirt and green silk tie.

Higher still, the dead white skin of a madman, a wide, piano key grin seeming to split his face open, the horrible, gnarled and pink flesh, coming up from the corners.

"Spooky…" the Joker chuckled low. "I'm disappointed. You _know_ that stuff doesn't work on me. And more offending still, that you would greet such a dear and _loyal_ friend as myself in so _aggressive_ a manner." He pressed his free hand to his chest, assuming a hurt expression. "I'd come to expect more from you, Scare-chum. I really had."

Jonathan's mouth twisted in to a scowl, hidden behind the burlap mask.

"Joker!" He hissed, trying to sound angry. "What the hell do you want?"

He attempted pulling his arm free, only to be held fast, the lunatic's grip tightening considerably, threateningly, while his face remained the picture of levity.

"Ohhh, my dear, _sweet_ Jonathan …" the Joker went on, speaking airily, smile turning wry. "is that _fear _I see in your eyes? Surely, the _Master_ of Fear, a lone-hanging _straw man, eerie_ on his perch, surely _he _isn't frightened of a King's _fool_?"

"I _feel _no fear!" The Scarecrow spat, again trying vainly to tug his arm free. "I _control _fear!"

"Heh." The Joker only smiled more, staring at the shorter man with hard eyes. "Is that _so_? Me thinks your very _carriage_ betrays you. Made only more prominent by the sheer _panic_ of your tone. And ah! There we are, your _fleeting_ gaze! Only fearless men will meet _my _stare, _Johnny_."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" The former professor went on, trying one last time to pull free, his eyes indeed having slipped from the Joker's face, fixing down.

"Don't be a hypocrite Scarecrow." The Joker said flatly, quickly, suddenly all merriment gone from his voice. "I dislike it _very much_."

And at once his grip tightened, threatening now to crush the bones of Jonathan's wrist, the Scarecrow choking out in pain.

"I…" he gasped. "I'm no h-hypocrite! No… now let me _go_!"

"No." The Joker replied. "No, you _are_ a hypocrite. A _great_ hypocrite. You claim mastery over a thing which _consumes_ you. Which addles your mind andcontinues even _now_ to _vex_ you. Jonathan…" and now the madman sounded uncharacteristically serious. "you can not be _master _of that which dictates your every move. Which drives and inspires you to action. Which informs everything you _are_. Fear is _your _master. The very opposite of what you _proclaim_. That is hypocrisy in its _finest_ form."

And as quickly as it had gone, his smile returned, his grip loosening only just, Jonathan exhaling shakily, legs feeling suddenly weak beneath him.

"Oh, you aren't so bad as most all the _rest_." The Joker went on. "You should be allowed a modicum of excuse, I suppose, given how thoroughly cowed you found yourself in boyhood. And even a younger man, yes?" He chuckled softly. "I admit it would be a more difficult task, intimidating those on whom you seek revenge, if you allow them to glimpse your own, continued unease."

For a moment, the former psychiatrist was still, and whatever tension had been filling his frame had seemed abruptly to dissipate in to nothing. He stared up at the Joker now, a kind of numb, nauseating sickness dropping down through his stomach, breath caught in his throat.

He wasn't sure if ever in his life, in all the long and tortured years of his youth, if even at the hands of the Batman, he had ever, _ever_ felt so powerless as in that moment he did.

And like in all those times from his past, those long ago and others not so distant, every minute and every second and every _instant _of his feeling lost and helpless and _afraid_, like in all of _those_ moments, it was in the moments following it all turned to _rage_.

Suddenly he lashed out, his fingers reaching up, finding the Joker's face, clawing at it viciously, trying to tear the skin from it.

He snarled like a wild animal, intent in his task, nails digging in and ripping, pulling his arm determinedly from the other man's fingers.

The attack was enough of a surprise to make the Joker, for only an instant, lose his grip, and Jonathan yanked the limb free, just as the lunatic before him doubled over, laughter rising up from his throat as his hand came to his face, touching where the Scarecrow had left a set of already reddening claw marks.

Jonathan stumbled back from him, putting distance between them, and without hesitation then, he lifted his arm, finger squeezing hard down on the trigger, less then a second later, a fine mist dispensing from the contraption on his arm, directly in to the Joker's face.

And everything seemed to freeze, the madman going still in his still hunched position, eyes having closed against the spray, face scrunched, seemingly in pain.

Jonathan allowed himself to hope.

Since the last time he and the Joker had faced off, all those years ago, he'd modified his toxin's formula at least half a dozen times, maybe more. It was far more refined now, far more _potent_.

The Joker may have had an unusually strong resistance towards chemically based drugs and formulas, but this particular form of fear toxin came down to the molecular level. The moment you breathed it in, it would enter your blood stream, in to the membranes of your _cells_, traveling in double time to the brain, attacking indiscriminately and without discretion.

There was no _way _the Joker's system could resist it.

_No way_.

Jonathan watched intently as the seconds past, waiting… waiting…

Any moment now, the clown would start screaming.

He _knew _it.

He could _feel_ it.

Screaming with the visions of his worst nightmares come to life.

And then who would be the one _cowed_?

A few seconds more, and suddenly the Joker shifted, his hand coming up, over his face, covering his eyes.

The Scarecrow detected a slight but visible tremor, running through the lunatic's thin frame.

And he actually smiled, daring now to take a step closer.

Here it came.

The Joker's ultimate humiliation.

Jonathan hadn't dreamed it would come so soon, but who was he to argue the timing of a thing.

As long as it came.

"How does it _feel_, Joker?" He asked, his confidence suddenly skyrocketing. "How does it feel, such abject _terror_?"

The Joker held his other hand up, as if to stop the Scarecrow, still bent over, his face still hidden away from view.

The former professor bent slightly, trying to catch sight of what he knew was the madman's face, twisted in shock and pain.

"Well?" He went on. "Let's hear it! Let's hear you _scream_, funny man!"

And there came a sound, low and, at first, what sounded like a whine.

Jonathan's smile grew, listening closer, the sound gaining in volume.

Louder now. Louder.

The Joker's frame shook more violently.

The Scarecrow took another step nearer, wanting to hear better, to hear the lunatic's sad and pathetic whimpers.

Closer, and he could hear more clearly.

And like the suddenness of your breath being robbed from you by a hard blow to the stomach, he made it out.

And it wasn't whimpers. Wasn't whining, or crying, or pleading.

It wasn't any of those things.

No.

_No_.

It wasn't possible.

Wasn't _possible_!

Laughter, low and deep, and genuine.

Jonathan's mouth went dry.

And in the instant following, the Joker suddenly straightened, fully to all his height, his hand falling away, lips pulled up in to a sickeningly wide grin, stretching the grotesque and uneven scars which ran up his cheeks.

He continued to shutter as his mirth grew, in seconds no longer a quiet chuckle, but grand and raucous hysterics, sharp and painful, thick with unhinged madness, the paralyzing sound of apathy.

The Joker's hand came up, wiping at his eyes as tears squeezed from their corners, forced out by the efforts of his amusement.

"Oh ho, J-Johnny!" He began excitedly. "I can see you've come a ways in your skills as a chemist! No longer so rudimentary as they were! You've _refined _the formula! Much, _much_ better! Much more _precise_! Ohhohoohoo, I _felt_ it this time!"

Jonathan looked back, confusion and dread clear in his eyes.

It would be nearly half a minute more before the Joker at last began to calm, breathing in deeply, letting it out slow, pushing a hand back through his hair.

He sighed, looking pointedly at the shorter man.

"My, my, _dear_ Doctor, you appear so _unsure_!" He began, merriment in his tone. "What did you think? That your toxin has no effect on me?" He waved his hands dismissively forward. "Don't be absurd! Of _course_ it does. Perhaps just not the effect you _desire_. The compound affects me as efficiently it would anyone else. The only difference, Scary, is the reaction to the produced hallucinations. Oh, I know the things seen would be nothing short of horrific to most." He smiled thinly, suddenly stepping forward, cutting the space between them to inches. "But for me, well…" and he chuckled lowly. "they're nothing short of riotously _funny_."

Jonathan realized then his own folly, his own _stupidity_.

He should have _run_, damn it! He should have run when he had the chance!

Maybe he still could… Maybe…

But it was too late now…

He stepped back, stumbling, trying to turn, to get away…

And the Joker's hand shot out, lightening quick, long fingers catching and wrapping with vicious pressure 'round the Scarecrow's arm, yanking him back hard.

A gasp pushed past Jonathan's lips as the lunatic pulled him nearer, the Joker's other hand coming up, finding the former psychiatrist's jaw through his mask and grasping it painfully, forcing the doctor's head up to face him.

He grinned meanly.

"But back to the topic at _hand_…," he started, voice unnervingly calm. "even if you can be allowed some leniency in your _affectation_, that _still_ fails in excusing you being a _poor _challenge to Batman. I think our _daring_ hero deserves more, don't you? Such a _fine_ specimen of the human will should have one as equally determined to cavort with, hmm? And _that_…" he giggled. "that most certainly is not _you_."

He released his grip on the Scarecrow's jaw, jabbing his index finger in to Jonathan's nose.

The shorter man jerked his head back, struggling to pull free.

But the Joker held him easily, only tightening his grip.

"G… get away from me you damned freak!" The former professor hissed, voice edged with panic, again trying to pull away. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

The Joker only grinned.

"Oh, I think we're _both_ a bit freakish, Johnny." He replied. "But come now, don't go changing the subject!"

At once his hand came up, grasping the top of the burlap mask, ripping it violently from Jonathan's head.

He tossed it dismissively aside, looking down at the Scarecrow's now exposed face, smile still in place.

But in the Joker's eyes shown no amusement.

And in Jonathan's heart bloomed paralyzing dread.

"You're an _embarrassment_ Johnny." The madman went on, leaning down close, his hand fisting in the former psychiatrist's hair, tugging at it hard. Pain flared across the Scarecrow's scalp. "It reflects _badly_ on the _community_, when certain members rely on parlor tricks and _Halloween_ costumes to _intimidate_. You think anyone's afraid of Batman because of his silly cape and cowl?" He laughed. "No, no! It isn't _that_. It's what they know he can _do_ to them. Isn't that why _you're _afraid Spooky? Because of what you know he can _do _to you?"

Jonathan didn't answer, staring up at the lunatic with wide and stricken eyes.

The Joker gave a shrug, still keeping his grip on the shorter man.

"Not that I personally _care _how your shortcomings may diminish the reputations of others operating in this city. As you well know, I've never really felt _part of the crowd_ anyhow." He smiled wryly. "It's just… I don't want my _darling_ caped crusader becoming _bored_. What about those times I can't be out here, providing him_ entertainment_? Sub-par substitutes just simply won't _do_. Why, he may even become so disgusted as to _quit_ his vigilantism. And _that_…" suddenly his grip tightened, becoming crushing, Jonathan choking out in pain. "that would make me _most_ _displeased_."

And without further warning, the Joker took hold in the Scarecrow's shirt, turning him dizzyingly fast, slamming him back first against a piece of sharp edged machinery, quickly knocking the air from his lungs.

Jonathan gasped out, even as the lunatic pressed more in to his chest, constricting his breath further.

"Now a bit of _parting_ advice before I leave you to Batman's doubtless _unappreciative _clutches." He grinned, seeing the absolute shock across the Scarecrow's features. "Oh, don't look so _surprised_ Scarechum! Didn't you think if _I_ was able to find you, so too would our dear dark knight? He'll be on his way, in short order, no doubt."

His grin widened.

"Now, back to that advice. Since I _know_ you were wondering about it before I revealed myself to you, the matter of those _men_ you hired. Next time you may want to invest that hard stolen cash of yours a little more _wisely_. The reason they haven't come out to your aid yet is because, well…" he giggled lightly. "I'm sorry to say they simply… _ran away_ the moment they saw me. Can you _believe_? I _was _expecting to have to kill them. But loyalty seems in short supply these days, doesn't it? Or maybe they just figured _your _wrath wouldn't be quite so _costly _as my own. Hmm? What do you think Scarebuddy? You think that's why they _abandoned_ you so quickly? Maybe it again has something to do with that causing the _illusion_ of a threat, as opposed to actually _posing_ one?"

Once more he chuckled.

"See, they see _you_, and they know you can spray them with that lovely little chemical concoction of yours. And it'll cause in them all _kinds_ of unpleasant hallucinations. Only, they're _just_ that. _Hallucinations_. _You_, I'm sorry to say, fail quite miserably in the inspiration of panic. They see _me_, and that, well, _that's_ an entirely _different_ sort of thing. They see me, and the _fear_ is no longer something imagined Johnny. No. No. It's very, _very_ much _real_. They're scared of _me_. And like I said to you already, I don't need silly masks or a drug which, lets face it, causes little more then a really bad _acid trip_ to induce such. _You_, Dr. Crane, are pathetic. Certainly not worth _Batman's_ time or effort. So I'm doing the doll a favor and taking care of his lighter, more menial tasks."

The Joker shrugged.

"Again, I'm sure he won't show any sort of appreciation. He's so stingy after all on the compliments. So _ungrateful_ for all the effort I put in for _him_." He smiled lazily. "But really, that's part of his _charm_. I'm not ashamed to admit it drives me absolutely _wild_, how _boorish _he can be. Like the _boy_ who's mean to the _girl _'cause he's secretly _in love_ with her, heehee. Trying _so_ hard to hide it for his own _shame_."

Jonathan stared back at him, eyes wide in both horror and disbelief, jaw hung open.

"Y… you're crazy." He finally stammered. "You're insane!"

And again he began to struggle, trying desperately now to break away.

It was fast the smile vanished from the Joker's lips then, and he jerked Jonathan forward, slamming him back hard against the machine. And then a second time, ceasing any movement on the Scarecrow's part.

"_No _Jonathan. I'm _not _insane." He hissed lowly, mouth pulling in to a frown, voice suddenly mean. "I _was_ going to only _marginally_ hurt you. Do whatever necessary to make you nice and compliant for tall, dark and _brooding_. But, you never did know how to keep your _mouth_ shut, did you?"

The shorter man looked back, silent, and the Joker could feel the vague tremble through his frame.

The smile quickly returned.

"Oh, don't worry Scary. I'm not going to _kill_ you. If I did that, then I wouldn't be able to play with you anymore. And I just _so_ love _playing _with you."

He lifted his hand, pressing it over Jonathan's face, forcing his head back, holding fast as the former psychiatrist again began to struggle.

He laughed.

"Now Johnny, let's get the game underway. Shall we?"

/

The Scarecrow had been bound and unconscious when he'd found him, hanging from the warehouse rafters and well beaten up.

Nothing which would have required intensive medical treatment, save for some contusions in need of stitches. But clearly, he'd been roughed up handily, and left to be humiliated.

There hadn't been any fingerprints left, so whoever the culprit had been, they'd been wearing gloves. No hair fibers, save for Jonathan Crane's own. No clothing fibers which would be at all indicative of anything.

Whoever it had been, they'd made certain to clean up after themselves.

They'd been professional.

The only clue left had been a note, pinned to the front of Crane's shirt, printed out in typeface…

"_Have ever you felt fear from this man? Has ever he caused in you hesitation? Hollow tonight rang his proclamations. As every night before. No true Master of Fear has ever shrank from the challenge of you, but met it enthused, with unbridled joy. And so the title belongs to another. They lay claim to it with this victory, and inform you of it with this favor_."

The Scarecrow hadn't regained consciousness until after he'd been delivered back to Arkham, and upon questioning, he'd refused to reveal who'd gotten to him, it seemed more from fear than anything else.

That in itself concerned the vigilante, that someone had frightened Jonathan Crane badly enough to keep him from talking to Batman. That whoever had done this, they caused greater worry in the former psychiatrist than the crusader himself.

And the note had been nothing but confusing.

What it had been saying was clear, only… the author's intentions were not.

Were they aiding him?

Challenging him?

Trying somehow to draw him out?

It was while thinking over the little information he had that the detective had thought of the Joker, that he quickly remembered the madman's words to him, as he'd left his cell some two weeks earlier, telling him he would see him soon.

Immediately, Batman had grown suspicious, it quickly growing to certainty that it must have been the lunatic behind this, though none of his usual calling cards had been left behind.

That hardly meant anything.

The Joker's MO changed so constantly, so erratically, that nothing with him was ever for sure.

But, when the vigilante had gone to check, the staff at Arkham had informed him that the Joker was still in his cell, and as far as they knew, had been there all night.

Batman had demanded to see him anyway, knowing how in the past the madman had fooled them with decoys.

But it _had _been the Joker there, and the lunatic hadn't wasted the opportunity to once again harass the crusader, launching in to another nonsensical diatribe about their being connected, going on about how Batman's coming back to see him so soon was further evidence of it.

Bruce had questioned him about the incident with the Scarecrow, but the Joker had shown him no knowledge of it, only laughing and talking about how the next time he saw Jonathan, he was going to give him hell for getting upstaged by some new in town poser, chide him for giving the other criminals in Gotham an unfavorable reputation as being weak and easily overtaken before again starting in on how much he and the vigilante had in common, talking quickly, hyperactively.

At that point, Batman had heard enough, simply walking away in the middle of the Joker's speech.

He'd heard the lunatic explode in to laughter as the door to the high security wing had closed behind him, and he'd felt his teeth grit in agitation.

There was little he despised more than talking to that psychopathic serial killer, and he wished routinely there were a way for him to avoid it completely.

But the Joker always seemed to find a way to draw him back, whether directly, or it seemed in this case, indirectly.

It didn't matter now anyway.

Whoever had snagged Jonathan Crane for him could wait.

He would find them eventually.

As it was, he had higher priorities.

Namely, the emergence of a secret society in the city he'd been more than certain wasn't real.

And still he didn't believe it.

But events of late dictated his further investigation.

He was going to find who was behind this Court of Owls children's tale and stop it dead in its tracks.

This was _his_ city.

That was something they were going to find out all too soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

"Tum ta, tee tum tum…"

The Joker hummed quietly to himself as he lowered down the grime ridden ladder, grasping between his long fingers a small flashlight, feeling for the rungs instead of looking.

He wore a backpack, which he'd picked up while rustling through a trash bin outside a Target store, along with the light. He'd had to swipe the batteries from a supermarket.

It was fun, what you could find from the dumpsters of retail giants.

They threw so much stuff away, junk that didn't sell; one had hardly to break in anywhere if you simply knew where to look.

A few more items picked up from the grocery store, and it had taken less than an hour to get everything together.

The baking had been exciting, he thought, and not to be boastful or any like thing, but he thought himself rather talented at it. Not so surprising, really, given his forte in chemical engineering and composition.

Well, a great many things came easily to him. That's just the way it was when one was gifted as he was.

He was certain Croc wouldn't suspect a thing.

Certainly not until it was too late, in any event.

He glanced down when he didn't feel another rung under foot, seeing he would have to drop he rest of the way.

And so he did, leaping off and landing with a soft smack on the pavement below, straightening a moment later.

He glanced about, the sewers dark, the air in here dank and unpleasant.

The Joker hardly noticed, used to worse even.

The only sound then was the steady dripping of water in water, and of the crunch of debris beneath his feet as he moved forward, shining the small flashlight around, his other hand grasping the strap of the backpack.

He stopped, stepping towards the edge of the raised platform, looking down in to the water.

He shined the light in to it, but it was too dark to really see much of anything.

He sighed, glancing back up, down the tunnel.

"Oh, come _along_ now Croc! Don't be _shy_!" He called out. "I know you're down here. I tailed you all the way from that meat processing plant you were earlier pillaging. So no sense in this _hiding_. _Reveal _yourself!"

He waited, listening.

But there came no reply, just the near silence of before.

Again the Joker sighed, rolling his eyes up.

"Well, if you're going to be that way…" he muttered, stepping from the edge and leaning back, against the water slicked wall.

"I'll just wait…" he went on quietly, glancing with a bored expression at his own nails, curled in against his palm.

He didn't react as nearly half a minute later there came an explosion, up out of the water, half drenching the platform the Joker stood on, and rocketing up from below, the massive form of Killer Croc, landing with a grace to belie his size, just feet from the madman.

The Joker only just had time to glance up at him, expression unchanged before the giant had reached out, lightening fast, clawed fingers burying sharp in the lunatic's shirt, slicing through the silk like it were nothing, tearing the skin beneath and slamming him viciously back, against the wall.

The Joker's skull cracked against the brickwork, pain searing from Croc's claws having ripped down his chest.

But for only the most fleeting of moments did his face contort before, in an instant, a wide grin had slid in to place, and he stared up at the deformed man with eyes shining, hands coming up and gripping round Croc's thick, scaled wrists.

"Croc, my dear, _please_," he started, voice airy. "you're rumpling my new suit! And already you've destroyed a perfectly _fine_ silk shirt. These things aren't easy to come by in my position, you must understand. It takes a great deal of…"

Croc brought a hand to his throat, pressing down, quickly cutting his voice short.

"_Why did you follow me_?" He spat, voice like gravel, almost deafeningly loud.

The Joker only continued to smile, failing to react.

"Merely to converse, Crocadilly." He chuckled, voice strained as Croc continued with the pressure along his windpipe, nearly threatening to crush it. "I have for you a proposition."

Croc bared his teeth, digging his nails in to the soft flesh of the lunatic's throat, drawing blood, and still the Joker's expression remained.

"I'll crush your bones to _powder_!" He seethed.

The Joker rolled his eyes, giving a strangled sigh.

"So _dramatic_ Wayland." He said. "You really do need to lighten up."

Abruptly, he let go his grip around the larger man's wrists, flicking his own, and in to his right palm fell a small canister.

Without hesitation, too quickly for Croc to even see the motion, the Joker had brought the canister back up, pressing down on the dispenser, a fine mist emitting, straight in to Waylon's eyes.

Immediately Croc reared back, a sharp growl tearing from his throat, fast losing his grip on the Joker as he began pawing madly at his face.

The Joker stepped from the wall, moving casually around the now flailing giant, dusting his hand down the front of his rumpled shirt and vest.

He walked a few feet more, putting some distance between them before turning, regarding Waylon with narrowed eyes as he continued to holler and curse, still clawing at his face.

Again the madman's eyes rolled, another sigh passing his lips.

"Really Croc, it's only _pepper spray_. Hardly anything to become so _worked up_ over."

"I'LL KILL YOU!" The deformed man screamed. "I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS CLOWN!"

And now he began lashing blindly at the air.

The Joker watched him with a bored expression, keeping his eyes on him only a few moments longer before giving an unimpressed shrug, turning his attention to his backpack, removing it and setting it on the ground, kneeling down then to unzip it.

He pulled out a box, unresponsive to Croc's continued threats and violent thrashing, beginning to speak, calm and soft.

"Here, I brought you something." He said, falling to a seated position, crossing his legs.

He looked up, seeing Waylon had finally given up trying to find him, instead again trying desperately to clear his sight, his palms pressing hard in to his eyes, rubbing with what looked like painful pressure.

The Joker smiled.

"That'll wear off, in a minute or two." He went on. "You should just try to relax a bit."

Another growl ripped past Croc's lips, nearly a minute more before at last his hands fell away, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to clear them.

"_Where are you_?" He hissed, again swiping at the air.

The Joker giggled.

"Right here, silly."

Croc swung his head round, in the direction of the madman's voice, finally, just barely able to make out the Joker's form.

He lunged for him fast, hands reaching out, fingers burying this time in the lapels of the lunatic's coat, jerking him violently up.

The Joker once more rolled his eyes.

"Oh, are we back to _this_?" He asked flatly, staring up at the giant as he hung limp from his hands. "Really, I can't understand what has you so _incensed_. After all sweets, I only was _defending_ myself. I otherwise come in peace. Why, I even am _unarmed_, no real weapons to speak of! And I assure you, the mild stinging in your eyes could be exponentially _worse_. Trust me, I know well of these things."

Waylon jerked him closer.

"You should've _run_ when you had the chance, laughing boy!" He seethed.

The Joker laughed.

"Oh, ho ho, my dear boy, the Joker does not _run_. Don't be ridiculous!"

"Then you're even dumber than you look!" Croc snapped.

"You're one to talk." The Joker shot back. "Just because I have no firearm on my person doesn't mean I don't have a few, good tricks up my sleeves, as you've already found out."

He grinned widely, watching Waylon's expression drop, glimpsing the moment of hesitation in his eyes.

A moment later, Croc's hands released their grip, the Joker dropping back down and hitting the platform hard, giving a slight umph with the impact.

He began dusting himself off again.

The larger man glared angrily.

"What the hell do you _want _Joker?" He spat, impatient.

"I believe I've already explained myself." The lunatic replied, at last glancing up. Again he smiled. "Only to talk. Oh, and as a gesture of my _utmost _sincerity, I've taken it upon myself to bestow upon you a gift."

Once more, he held out the box, taken from his backpack.

Waylon's eyes fell to it, staring suspiciously a moment.

"What's that?" He asked.

The Joker's smiled broadened.

"Open it and you'll find out." He answered.

Croc barked out a laugh.

"I ain't that stupid Joker." He said. "Everyone in this stinkin' city knows better 'an to accept gifts from some psycho like you. And you must be crazy as they say, comin' down here all by yourself without any kind or gun or nothin'."

For a brief moment, a flash of something other than amusement flickered across the Joker's features. But as quickly, it was gone.

"Is that what they say?" He asked.

"Yeah, they say's you're crazy as they come, and I believe it. Fuckin' nuts, comin' down here. You and the Bat. Both of you's is crazy."

A grin spread across the Joker's lips, gone from it any merriment, something else, something threatening.

"Fine company to keep. I'm flattered, really."

He gave a lazy shrug.

"But I understand, certainly. You have every reason to think it a _bomb _contained within this box. And as mad as I'm said to be, then surely, I wouldn't give a moments thought to blowing myself sky high along with you, if it struck me humorous to do so."

He curled his long, thin fingers round the box's top, looking pointedly at Wayland, smile growing larger still.

"Well then, let's find out, shall we?"

And there he saw it, fear in the deformed man's eyes, panic.

And a low chuckle worked its way up the lunatic's throat.

Even the most base, predatory animals found fear of him…

"NO!" Waylon shouted in desperation, watching as the Joker began lifting the lid, realizing he wouldn't be able to stop it.

He dove for the madman anyway, latching to his wrist just as he opened the top, pulling him forward in some vain attempt to avoid what he'd become certain in just seconds was their fast approaching death.

Only…

Nothing happened.

And suddenly all he could hear was the Joker's hysterical laughter, ringing loud in his ears.

He stared at the lunatic, doubled over in his mirth, confused a long moment, before at last his gaze cast down, to the box.

And in it he saw a pile of what looked like… sugar cookies?

"What the hell is this?" He sneered, shoving the Joker away from him in disgust, and the madman continued to giggle, almost uncontrollably.

"Oh, ho, Croc, y-you should've seen your f-face! Hahahahah!"

The larger man just glared back with narrowed eyes.

"Shut your face clown! I asked you a question!"

It would be nearly a minute though before the Joker was able to rein his laughter in, and he looked up at the giant, wiping at his eyes.

"O-only what they look like Waylon. A box of cookies, baked especially for you with my own, two hands. As I said already, a gesture of my sincerity. I'm quite proud of the effort, really."

It was Croc's turn to bark out a laugh.

"HA! You expect me to eat that?" He asked, incredulous. "Knowing you, it's probably poisoned with that laughing gas or whatever the hell it is you use!"

The Joker frowned, expression exaggerated, feigning hurt.

"Oh, dear, are you so _distrustful _of me?"

The larger man only looked back, as if to question whether the lunatic was serious or not.

And the Joker stared back a moment, before at last giving a shrug, looking away.

"Well if that's the way you _feel _Croc." He said, continuing to sound hurt. "I understand, though I only was attempting to show _kindness_. You don't have to eat them if you don't want to."

He placed the box almost gingerly on the ground, falling silent as he held his hands before himself, seeming then to examine them, almost transfixed.

And for a long while, he just stayed like that, Waylon staring down at him uneasily, unsure of what was going on.

He thought he would just go back in the water and leave the freak to himself.

But then, he didn't much feel comfortable with the idea of the Joker wandering around down in his lair.

He guessed he could just kill the clown and make him in to a meal, but… he wasn't that stupid.

The Joker may have said he was unarmed, but that didn't mean he wasn't prepared to defend himself, as he'd said. And even though the son of a bitch wasn't any kind of physical challenge, Croc knew from past experience that he was tricky as hell, and coming straight at him was usually a bad idea.

Not to mention, much as he hated to admit it, laughing boy had a kind of… _clout _in the criminal underworld. He had a bizarre following of loyal underlings, not least of which was that crazy bitch Harley Quinn. And he really didn't want an army of nut jobs raining down on him.

Croc also knew enough to know, if he offed the Joker, it would have consequences beyond the act itself. Things would get shaken up, and maybe even more unstable. Guys would get scared, rumors would spread, all kinds of shit.

Maybe that was why the Joker always seemed to be _trying_ to get himself killed, 'cause he knew it would fuck things up for everyone else, and he thought it would be funny, or some sick thing like that.

God, Waylon hated him.

Fuckin' psycho…

His thoughts were disrupted suddenly by the sound of the Joker's voice, unnervingly soft…

"Look at me…" he said, still staring down at his own hands.

A moment later, and his gaze lifted to Waylon.

"Look at _me_." He repeated. "And look at _yourself_ Waylon. You and I are not so very different. You and I, in fact, are so very much alike."

The larger man scoffed.

"I ain't nothin' like you clown!" He spat.

But the Joker only shook his head, undeterred.

"No. No, you _are_." He insisted, voice suddenly serious. "And I am like you. Do you not see? We are _outcasts_. Rejects from _society_." He frowned. "What people _call _society. They're little club of _exclusivity_. Only letting those in who _look_ like them, and _act_ like them, and _think_ like them. Waylon, since you were a boy, you have been met with _nothing_ but people's scorn and ridicule, with their amusement at your expense. Have you not?"

Croc said nothing, his expression having fallen.

The Joker pressed a hand to his own chest.

"I am the same. The same too since I was a child. People have only ever laughed at me, humiliated and used me to their own benefit." At once the lunatic's expression turned angry. "Well then I decided to laugh at them back! I decided to give to them tenfold only what they'd ever given to me! And you, you Waylon are the same! You only decided to give them back the same treatment they'd ever given to you! To force on them their own hypocrisy!" He barked out a bitter laugh. "And what hypocrisy it is! Only when they're met with the same do they take issue with such behavior. I say look at me Wayland because, like you, I have been labeled _deformed_, _unfit_ to join their _ranks_. Oh, it's so _easy_ for them, isn't it? To lecture and dictate to the likes of us. When they have little more to contend with physically than their own, soft guts and flabby, privileged forms. They tell us we cannot be a part of their group unless we conform. But the issue of contention is with _themselves _Waylon, not with _us_. Neither of us can help what we were born as. As though we haven't made the attempt? As though we haven't _tried_ to integrate? But we only have ever been met with their continued derision and hatred. And why? Because we _look_ different? Because maybe even we _think_ different? And so they call us mad! They call us insane, mentally unstable and unsound. Mentally _ill_. They lock us away in an _asylum_. Because we aren't like _them_. But Waylon, it is _them _who are mad! Them who live in delusion and falsity! They accuse us of the very thing which plagues their own hearts and minds so that they may not have to face it in _themselves_. Because… because Waylon, our very presence forces them to face that truth, forces them to look in the mirror. Threatens their _safe_, _little world_; the fantasy which they've taken such care to construct round themselves. And so they lock us away, in hopes of escaping the reality of their own failure. And their own fate."

The Joker looked pointedly at Croc, expression without any hint of levity.

"They're _frightened_ of us Waylon. Because we threaten their pathetic, flailing illusion, just through our existence alone. We show them everything that's wrong with the way they live, with the way they _are_."

He had to work hard to keep from smiling then, seeing the expression across Croc's face, the absolute longing in his eyes, to believe the words coming from his mouth.

Well, he would just give him every reason to be convinced…

"Waylon, I've come to you tonight to make a proposition." He started, seeing now he had the giant where he wanted him. "That we form an alliance, as a means of reversing our positions with them. Between you and myself, I believe we easily could take this city over. We could _run_ it. And no longer would we find ourselves subjugated to their whim and will. No, instead, they would be forced to submit to _us_, to _our_ command and _our_ decisions. But Waylon, it would require the two of us working in tandem, us cooperating with and _supporting_ one another. Together, I believe the two of us would be unstoppable."

For a moment, Croc was silent, staring back at the Joker, his face no longer twisted in rage or disgust, but now something hopeful, almost desperate.

"You… you really think so?" He finally asked, his gaze slipping down.

The Joker nodded.

"As well as I've ever thought anything." He replied. "We can do this Waylon. I _know _we can."

"So what's the plan then?" The larger man asked, suddenly eager.

And now the Joker smiled again.

"The plan, Waylon…" he reached casually down in to the box of cookies, taking one up as though he were going to eat it. "is we pool our resources. Whatever men and equipment we can pull together…" He looked up. "You should choose the time and place out of which we'll operate, and once you have, we can either meet back here, or wherever you please, and discuss the details of it and how to proceed."

Croc gave a nod, silent a long moment.

"Ya know Joker…" he started after a while, looking down at the madman. "maybe you're not as bad as they say."

The Joker smiled good naturedly, warmly.

"All _vicious_ rumors and _malicious _gossip, I assure you."

Waylon grinned.

"I hear that. All anyone knows 'bout me is what they say in the papers."

The Joker nodded in sympathetic understanding.

"… Ya know…" Croc again started after a moment, eyes dropping to the box of cookies. "I think I will have one of those." He said, failing to notice the Joker hadn't actually taken a bite of his own.

The lunatic again smiled.

"Really?" He asked, making certain to inject a hopeful eagerness in his voice.

Waylon gave a nod.

"Yeah, lemme have one." He reached out.

And the Joker obliged him, handing the box over.

He watched, expression stoic, unmoving as the larger man took up half the cookies in a single grab, shoving the lot of them in to his mouth, swallowing quickly down, barely bothering to chew.

Just as the Joker had hoped he would. That's how many it would take to put the brute down, he'd estimated.

"Hey, those are really good!" Croc exclaimed, wiping the crumbs from his lips. "Didn't know you could cook Joker!"

The madman smiled tightly.

"Oh, I have a great many talents, Croc." He answered softly. "A great many otherwise unknown to the public at large."

And then he again fell silent, face again going flat as he continued to watch Waylon with cold, hard eyes.

It was only staring back, after a long, few moments, did Croc notice it there.

And he felt the dread drop down through his stomach before he felt the affects of whatever he'd just eaten, that coming just seconds after.

A wave of dizziness so hard, it almost put him down right there.

He stumbled forward, hands outreached, finding the Joker, burying in his jacket, lifting him up from the ground.

"Wh… what the h-hell did… did you just _give_ me?" He roared, voice thick with fury.

The Joker didn't flinch.

"Just a little something to help you sleep dear." He said, even and calm. "Don't worry, it'll all be over in a moments time."

"I… I'll kill you for th-this!" Croc raged. "I'LL K-KILL YOU!"

The Joker smiled.

"I'm sure you'll _try_." He replied back.

And then he saw it, the glaze coming over the deformed man's eyes, and the Joker could feel his grip loosen within the material of his coat.

A second later, and Waylon lost his hold completely, the Joker slipping to the ground as Croc staggered backwards, away from him, making it just feet before his massive, lumbering form collapsed, hard and heavy to the platform below, unconscious.

The lunatic gave no reaction but a simple rise of his brows.

And then he began once more to dust his suit, before pushing himself to his feet and moving for the backpack, still sat unzipped on the ground.

"Tum, tee, tum tum…" he sang to himself, rummaging through the many contents inside.

"Ah! Here we are!" He exclaimed happily, pulling a thick pair of manacles from the bag, cuffs big enough to fit around most people's ankles.

He looked up to Croc's unmoving body.

"There's the ticket, Croc old boy!" He went on, beginning towards him.

"Hmm…" he brought his hand to his chin, observing how the giant had fallen on to his back. "Of course, you insist on making this more difficult."

He knelt down, placing the manacles on the ground beside him and placing his hands along Croc's thick, scaly shoulder, giving a push.

The unconscious man barely budged, and the Joker frowned.

"What have you been _eating_ Croc?" He asked. "Why, you must weigh a good three or four hundred, just from the feel of you."

There came no reply, and the lunatic gave an unaffected shrug.

"Well then, let's try again, shall we?"

He gave another push, gritting his teeth as he put all his effort in to it, finally turning Wayland on to his stomach.

"Phew!" The Joker wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. "Guess I can consider my workout done for the night!"

He chuckled lowly at his own joke, again shrugging when all he received in return was silence.

He grabbed up the manacles again, straddling himself over Croc's hips and pulling first his right arm back, snapping the cuff over his wrist, doing the same a moment later to his left.

"There! That oughta' hold you until the, ahem, _proper _authorities arrive on the scene."

He glanced round himself then, brow furrowing.

"Speaking of said scene…" he looked back down at Croc. "it doesn't seem very likely anyone will find you down here, then does it?"

He shook his head.

"No, it doesn't seem very likely at all."

He looked up, towards the manhole through which he'd climbed in, giving a great sigh as he realized what he was going to have to do.

"Disregard that earlier remark. It seems my workout for the night hasn't yet begun."

Again he looked down at Croc, regarding his slow and even breaths closely a moment.

"HA!" He laughed suddenly. "Well, nothing worth anything was ever easy, was it dear? Not that anything's worth something, really. Not really."

Once more he shrugged.

"No point in delaying it further. Come along big man…" He grabbed hold of Croc's shoulders, struggling to pull him up.

Finally, he managed it, keeping him balanced with one hand while positioning himself at Waylon's front, his back to him and grasping to the giant's forearm.

"Okay, on three Killer." He said, readying himself, bending at the knees.

"One…"

"… Twwwwooo…"

…

"Three!"

"Pffffff…" he gave a grunt as he fought to lift the other man on to his back, barely keeping his own knees from collapsing out under him with the weight.

He breathed out harshly.

"H-heavens Croc!" He hardly managed, trying with great difficulty to straighten. "You're absurd! How do you haul this weight with such seeming _ease_?"

It took a moment before he felt sure of his own balance, looking up again towards the still opened manhole, rolling his eyes as it dawned on him he was going to have to carry the bastard up the ladder.

"All I know is Bat-boy better appreciate the effort this time! Practically breaking my back here for the moody bitch."

He eyed the bag, still on the ground.

"I'll just have to chain your feet together once we get up on to the street sweetie-pie." He went on. He glanced at Croc's face, hung limp over his shoulder, grinning at the peaceful looking façade. "Ya know, you're almost kind of cute when you're like this Croc."

He frowned exaggeratedly.

"But don't let Bat's hear me say so. Oh, he'd be _so _jealous!"

A moment more, he went on watching the giant, studying his reptilian-like features.

A few seconds longer, and he lost interest, turning his attention back to the manhole, giving one more sigh before beginning towards it, slowly, stride hindered greatly by the weight of the giant on his back.

He didn't even hesitate as he came upon the ladder, keeping a solid grip on Waylon's forearm as his other took hold of the highest rung he could reach, putting every ounce of his strength then in to lifting the both of them up.

It would take nearly a solid, five minutes before the Joker had managed to get the two of them to the top, having to push Croc up above him, out on to the pavement, that too taking an extra effort of will.

But still, he managed it, sticking his head out the hole, taking a look around to make sure they were alone.

He could see no one else, the streets empty and desolate as he'd left them.

He smiled at Waylon.

"Be back in a moment Croc. Don't go running off now!" He giggled, still breathing heavy.

He disappeared then, back in to the sewer.

It would be less than a minute later when he reemerged, backpack in hand, all the evidence of his presence contained within it.

He would leave Croc where he was, manacling his ankles together, the same as his had his wrists, placing a thick wired muzzle over his mouth, strapping it around to the back of his head.

Secured tight for the Bat to find...

Disappearing himself then, vanishing out, in to the night.


End file.
